Stephanie's Revenge Read Online Free

slave was trying not to look
at her, trying not to feel her naked body next to his. The hard
shell of the leather pouch allowed no room for expansion; getting
an erection was an uncomfortable experience.
    Stephanie sat at the table and crossed her legs. The man
waited for instructions. All the slaves wore small metal chains
around their necks; each bore a metal disc engraved with a name.
This disc, hanging on the man's hairless chest, was engraved Frank . When Stephanie had
come to the castle the names had all been false. Her orders had
ensured that they would now be real, their real Christian
names.
    'Frank?'
    'Yes,
madam?'
    'I haven't
seen you before, have I?'
    'Yes,
madam.'
    'Have I?'
    'In the
cellars, madam.'
    'But you
haven't been up here in my bedroom before, have you?'
    'No,
madam.'
    'So you
haven't been here long.'
    'Two weeks,
madam.'
    'Look at me,
Frank,' she said.
    'Yes,
madam.'
    His eyes
reluctantly looked at Stephanie's face: her right, dark brown eyes;
her hair, nearly dry now, falling on to her finely boned shoulders;
her perfectly symmetrical mouth and pursed, ripe lips; her high
cheekbones and delicate, quite sharp nose. Deliberately and very
slowly, she licked her lips with the tip of her very pink
tongue.
    'Look at my
body,' she ordered.
    'Please,
madam...'
    But he obeyed.
It was too late, anyway. His erection was already pushing against
the metal of the pouch. He looked down at her firm breasts, the
nipples not at all hard, down into her lap where her crossed legs
showed only a neat triangle of tight black curls. He moaned with
the pain as his cock tried to swell further and couldn't. It was
agony.
    Stephanie
tired of the game.
    'You may go,'
she said, standing up and pulling her white towelling robe back
around her body.
    The slave
shuffled out of the room, his discomfort obvious in the difficulty
he had walking.
     
    Stephanie
sipped at the coffee and buttered a brioche which she ate hungrily.
As she began to think of what she would wear, the phone rang. She
walked into the bedroom to answer it, and recognised Devlin's voice
immediately.
    'Good news,'
he said. Devlin was in London on business, but his voice sounded as
though he were downstairs.
    'What?' she
asked.
    'Gianni's back
in Rome. I just heard today.'
    'Really?'
Stephanie felt a surge of excitement.
    'He got back
yesterday. I've just spoken to him on some pretext. He'll be there
for at least a week.'
    'Perfect.'
    'I'll send the
plane back so you can go this afternoon. You're booked into a suite
at the Excelsior. I won't be back for at least three days, so go
and enjoy yourself. You've got all the credit cards now. If you go
into the safe in my office there's Swiss Francs if you want to take
some cash. Do some shopping...'
    'I do need
some clothes. None of my stuff from London is really—'
    'Get whatever
you want,' Devlin said. 'Oh, and apparently, if you want to catch
Gianni alone, tomorrow is the best night. His wife always plays
bridge on Tuesday night. Never misses.'
    'How did you
find that out?'
    'I've had her
followed.'
    'You think of
everything.'
    'I try. The
plane will be ready about two. I'll get the car to pick you up at
the airport.'
    Stephanie was
already making her plans. She could get to the hotel this
afternoon, spend Tuesday shopping and then, on Tuesday night, pay
her long-awaited visit to Giancarlo Gianni. At last!
    The tone of
Devlin's voice changed. 'Have you missed me?' he asked.
    'What are you
doing now?' Stephanie ignored his question deliberately.
    'Getting
dressed.'
    'What are you
wearing?'
    'Socks, pants,
my shirt...'
    She could hear
another change of tone, a slight breathlessness.
    'Take your
shirt off again, Devlin,' she ordered, her voice hard and
imperious. She could picture him in his hotel suite; his squat,
awkwardly-shaped body, his bulbous nose and pock-marked face making
him appear brutish and ugly. She could imagine his huge, outsized
fingers - each the size of a banana - struggling with the buttons
of the